learning-to-fly

Chapter Six, Garden Groupie

Sun, 19 May 2013 04:49:47 +0100

Title: Learn to Fly: Chapter Six, Garden Groupie
Rating: PG-13 [language, references to drugs]

Summary: Melanie can't handle partying with the band, so Dave takes her home.

His hand closed over hers, keeping Mel from walking away from him. Had he hesitated for even a moment, she would have bolted, he could tell. That was how they played the game. He pushed her, she ran, he caught her. One day... one day he wouldn't let her go, that he was certain of.

"I'm not asking you to be," he finally said, pulling her back to him.

Mel's eyes looked up into his, trying to gauge what she was seeing. Passion was certain, the rest not so clear. Why could she never read him as well as she did most other men?

"No? So this is just a onetime thing? How is that supposed to make me feel any better?" she retorted.

"It's not. It's complicated," Dave stated. "I don't want this to be a onetime thing. I want to see you again and again. And I would never ask you to be the 'other woman.' Not in any lifetime."

"Then what are you asking?" Mel demanded, twisting her arm in an attempt to get him to release her hand.

"Just don't walk away. Because I'll walk right after you. I'm not letting you get away," Dave stated.

"Huh. Funny. I don't recall you having any say over whether or not I 'get away.' I don't belong to you," she said, finally managing to get him to let go of her hand. "You have no power over me."

"Don't I?" he asked, before his arms wrapped around her, pulling Mel to him.

Once again his mouth sought hers. She attempted to resist, her hands on his chest, pushing against him. But he did not let up, not until she started to respond to the kiss. Ever so slowly her lips softened and Mel kissed him back, though a voice in her mind screamed not to. Her slight intoxication managed to quiet that voice enough for her arms to slip over Dave's shoulders. He smiled as she pressed up on her toes to kiss him better.

Pulling out of the kiss, he grinned at her, "No power over you, eh?"

"None at all," she replied through half-lidded eyes.

This time Mel kissed him. The movement alone surprised Dave, especially as she chose to kiss the corners of his smile. Not about to be out done, he lifted her up, pivoting them so as to set the petite girl up on a nearby retaining wall, putting them at equal height. Dave wasn't all that tall, just barely six feet tall, but Mel couldn't have been more than a few inches over five feet, if even that. Mel giggled against his mouth at that movement, before pushing away from him.

"I will not be your garden groupie," she declared. "I don't even like you."

He pouted, "That's rather too bad. I'm rather fond of you. Even after you ruined my paintings."

"Yours?" she repeated. "What makes them yours? Besides you're the reason they were ruined."

"How's that?" Dave asked, his hands travelling up from her waist slowly.

"You said things you shouldn't have," Mel replied, her eyes closing because of his touch.

"Because they were true?" he questioned, his mouth now near her ear.

Mel didn't say anything. Instead she pulled abruptly from him. Concern instantly filled his eyes, but Dave barely had much chance to react before Mel was vomiting into the flower bed. Falling to her knees, she held her stomach with one hand and her hair back with the other. She couldn't even feel Dave's hand on her back, rubbing it softly.

When the retching stopped, Mel remained as she was, almost as if she were afraid moving would make the spasms return. Tears were running down her red cheeks. Embarassment filled her, she couldn't remember the last time she had puked at a party and never because of drinking only two beers. Surely there was more to it, but she didn't care. She was just embarassed and felt like shit all at once.

"T-take m-me h-home," she stuttered. "P-please."

Dave hesitated a moment, until she started to move slowly as if she wanted to stand up again. His arm slipped protectively around her, his goofy grin gone.

"Let's get you cleaned up first. Then I'll take you home," he assured her.

"No. N-no inside. J-just g-go n-now," Mel demanded.

He was going to argue, but found some logic in what she was saying. That and he didn't want to push her any more. Nodding, Dave started to guide her around the side of the house, up towards the driveway.

Easing her onto the front steps, he said, "Wait right here. I'm going to go get keys."

She nodded, though she hated the thought of being left alone, even for a moment.

"I will come back. I promise."

Chapter Five, The After Party

Sun, 19 May 2013 04:46:39 +0100

Title: Learn to Fly: Chapter Five, The After Party
Rating: PG-13 [language, references to drugs]

Summary: What to do after the show? Go to the after party of course.

Her eyes went to the wrist he had held. She could feel his fingers about it and really had no clue what that meant. Raising her dark eyes to him, her eyes narrowed. He was still smiling.

"Don't you ever stop that?" she asked.

"Stop what?" he replied.

"Smiling like a goon," Mel stated.

"Nope," his grin increased, if that was even possible. "Now come on. We're all going back to my house for the after party. Hey, you didn't drive, did you?"

She shook her head, falling instep with him, "Kara wanted to, but we just walked from my place."

"Good. You can sit in my lap on the way over there," he stated.

Mel stopped in her tracks, "Like hell I will."

Dave chuckled, "Lighten up, Mel. The world won't end if you sit in my lap."

She narrowed her eyes, "I think it's better if I go home. Tell Kara I walked home."

Once again she turned to leave, his hand going to her wrist. He pulled her bodily to him, grinning down at her. Before she could object, he kissed her hard on the mouth. She stiffened even more, resisting it. But he didn't relent. The kiss softened before he pulled away, grinning.

"Let me go," Mel requested, an edge in her voice.

"Just relax, Melanie. Come with us for a little while. If you don't enjoy yourself, I'll take you home," he stated.

"Dave, I don't wan—"

"Please."

"No."

"You know you want to. Just as you knew you wanted to come to the concert tonight. Just for awhile," he pleaded.

Her hard eyes focused on his, "Fine. But if you kiss me again, I'll kick you."

"Promise?" he grinned, his hand slipping from her wrist to hold her hand, pulling her with him.

Just as he predicted, Mel ended up in Dave's lap in the car. Giddy Kara was squished between Dave and Taylor, giggling nearly everytime Taylor said anything. Mel could swear the girl had already drank a fifth of something, though she knew her friend just wasn't handling the fan thing all that well. Mel herself had her arms crossed over her chest, clearly unhappy with the seating arrangements, which she totally thought Dave had rigged. They could have gone in another car, one had even been offered. But noooo, he insisted the band all travel together. And would not allow Mel out of his sight, thinking she would bolt.

The car pulled into the driveway. And for whatever reason, Dave held onto Mel's waist, not allowing her to climb out first as she wanted. Instead everyone else exited, heading into the house that was all lit up already. She wiggled, trying to get out of his lap, but the wiggling did not create the desired effect. Instead of releasing her, he held her more tightly. His lips brushed her neck and she could tell wiggling hadn't been the best thing to do, feeling a certain familiar pressure poking her. Her fingers went to his and she laced her own with his. The fashion in which she did this caused Dave to relaxed his embrace of her, thinking he had won her over.

Instead she used her new advantage to peel his arms off of her, turning to face him in the same series of movements. She leaned close, close enough to seem as if she was about to kiss him. Instead her hands released his and pushed him back into the car seat.

"You might want to take a few calming breaths, dear Dave," she declared in a breath. "Because I'm not going to help you with your pants."

Pulling completely off of him and out of his reach while he still reacted to her words, Mel clammored out of the car and headed up to the house. A wry smile touched her mouth as she revelled in the moment of shock passing over his face at her words.

"Where's Dave?" she was asked as she entered the house, the smell of beer already assaulted her senses.

"Recovering in the car," Mel answered, knowing full well what the next assumption would be.

Kara had heard Mel's answer and stalked over to her, a beer in her hand, "You had a quickie with Dave Grohl in the car!?"

She smirked, taking the beer from her friend and downing it before replying, "Yes. I had a minute long quickie with Dave in the car, Kara. Goodness! If I'm going to fuck anyone, he better last more than a minute!"

Her brows knitted, "Then what happened?"

"Ask him," Mel replied, deciding to go in search of the beer, knowing she would need another drink if she was going to handle a night of this rock lifestyle.

Two beers later Dave finally approached her. He said nothing, taking the cup of beer from her hand and setting it on a counter. His hand grasped hers and he pulled her out of conversation with someone she had been discussing the shape of a gallery with. When her mouth opened to object, he quickly silenced her with a kiss. In her heightened state of inebriation, as she rarely drank, Mel did not resist his kiss, even returned it slightly before her muddled mind realized what she was doing.

Pulled out in the backyard away from the small clusters of people out there, Mel did not attempt to question what he had in mind. Her two and a half beers had loosened her mind enough to know she liked his attention and the way he did not relent in pursuit of her. That and his smile, the way he always smiled. Stopping some distance from people, but still in view of the house, Dave stopped, turning to face her. He kissed her brusquely for a moment, before pulling to look down into her eyes.

"Explain yourself," he stated.

"Huh?" she replied.

"Why the hell do you drive me as wild as you do?"

"I do?"

"Do you think I normally find excuses to see more of a girl I saw sitting alone in a coffeeshop?" he asked.

"You're a rock star. Don't you do things like that all the time with your groupies?" she retorted.

He pulled her closer to him, kissing her once again, though not nearly as harshly. For a moment she even relaxed in it, liking the brush of his facial hair on her skin. His hands wandered from the small of her back, allowing her to take a step back and part from his kisses.

"I don't have groupies," Dave finally answered.

"Sure you do."

"Fine. But I don't... partake of them," he declared, desire clear in his eyes.

She was going to ask why. But somehow her fuzzy brain managed to pull up some information Kara had given her prior to the concert. And her eyes narrowed.

"And you're not getting any more from me. You're married," Mel declared, taking another step back so that his hands could not touch her.

"I.... She.... I...." he struggled to explain anything to her.

"I won't be someone's other woman," she declared. "So you'll just have to live with me driving you wild."

Chapter Four, Promise not to stop

Thu, 16 May 2013 22:15:01 +0100

Title: Learn to Fly: Chapter Four, Promise not to stop
Rating: PG [mild language]

Summary: Melanie gives in and attends a Foo Fighters concert.

The envelope sat upon Mel's counter for two days, completely untouched. Often her fingers would reach for it but draw back moments before touching the white envelope. She really wanted nothing to do with him. Absolutely nothing.

And yet it beckoned. Oh so much.

Sitting on her couch, eyes attempting to read a sentence for the fourth time in a row, Mel finally gave into the seduction of the envelope. It was Thursday. If she still didn't want to go, she could get rid of the tickets before the concert the following day. But first she would have to know more about it. Tossing the magazine on the coffee table, she stood and went over to it.

Her fingers hovered a millimetre within touching the envelope. For whatever reason she could not seem to lower her hand that final distance. It felt like she was giving in to him somehow.

But how was that bad?

Her hand slammed down onto the envelope. Lifting it quickly she tored it open before she could talk herself out of it once more. Inside, as promised, was a pair of tickets and backstage passes. Slowly she slid one of the tickets out, her dark eyes scanning the text printed upon it.

"Foo Fighters?" she questioned the piece of paper in her hand. "He's a part of the Foo Fighters?"

In all honesty she wasn't certain who the band was. It was as familiar as he had been, but nothing concrete came to mind with the band's name. There was only one thing she could do: she'd have to call up someone and ask them.

Finding her phone, she pulled up a number in the phone book and listened to it ring. When the ring stopped, a feminie voice said 'Mel? What's up?'

"Hey, Kara. I've got something I need you to answer," she said.

"Sure. Whatcha need?"

"Do you know who the Foo Fighters are?"

There was dead silence on the air.

"Kara? Are you there?"

"You don't know who the Foo Fighters are, Mel?"

"It's familiar, but I can't really place it," she admitted.

"One sec," she replied, Mel could hear sounds in the background, indicating Kara was flipping through something, presumably her CDs. "Let me find the track. You know who they are, Mel. Trust me."

A few moments later 'Hello. I've waited here for you. Everlong. Tonight, I'll throw myself into—' came over the phone.

"That's Foo Fighters!?" Mel exclaimed. "What's the singer's name?"

"Dave Grohl. Why?" Kara asked.

Mel dropped her phone. Her eyes went from the tickets in her hand to the door to her intense canvases. A shout from the phone on the floor brought her attention back to her.

"Mel!? Mel, are you okay!? Do I need to come over!?"

"You don't have plans tomorrow, do you?" she recouvered.

"No. Not at all. Why?" Kara replied.

"We're going to the Foo Fighters concert. And I have backstage passes."

Staring at her reflection, Mel scrunched up her nose. No matter what face her reflection made, it did not really belie the bundle of nerves Mel had in the pit of her stomach. She had no reason to be. She was just going to a concert...... of the man from the coffeehouse's band. No big deal. Right?

"Yo, Mel," a voice came from behind her. "You ready? We need to head over there now if we want to find decent parking."

"We'll walk. It's not that far," she said distractedly, glancing at Kara's reflection joining hers.

"Sure," she shrugged. "In any event, we should be going."

Mel nodded and stood. The young woman stood a little over 5 feet, only adding an inch to her height with her rather practical shoes. Slim black jeans hugged her curves, topped with a similiarly fit cotton tee. Perhaps the only note of colour was the red ribbon holding her mess of short black hair from her eyes. It wasn't that she always dressed in black, she just.... felt more comfortable in it that day. Perhaps she could blend in with the darkness of the arena and he wouldn't even know she was there.

Leaving her apartment, the two girls headed down the street. Kara kept pressing to know where Mel had gotten the backstage passes, much less the tickets. Mel kept brushing it off and attempting to change the subject. That however wasn't really working, as Kara was apparently a rather big fan of the Foo Fighters and couldn't stop chattering on about them.

By the time they had walked the few miles to the arena, Mel was pretty certain she knew all there was to know publicly about the band. With her admittance of not knowing anything of the band and only vaguely knowing the songs, Kara had insisted Mel listen to her Ipod with one ear while she chattered on about 'the best band in the world.' At least Mel felt a little better armed should she run into Dave ever again — not that she ever intended to see him again.

Kara insisted on buying merchandise before going to find their seats, because afterall they were going backstage and she was 'sure as hell getting something besides my breasts signed.' Mel found it rather humourous and could barely contain her rolling eyes and sardonic chuckles. At least one of them was excited to be there, she reminded herself. That alone meant the tickets weren't going to waste.

"A-24? Mel, I think this is front row," Kara said, glancing at the marked rows, moving down the aisle. "Where did you get these tickets?"

"I said I'm not telling you," she replied, feeling a little more nervous that they were apparently in the front row.

Her nerves continued to increase after they found their seats, which were dead centre of the front row. Each minute that passed, pushing them closer to the start of the show, twisted her knotted stomach more. Her legs bounced nervously, her eyes kept darting to the wings of the stage, she missed questioned Kara asked.

"Mel!" Kara poked her friend in the side. "Tell me why you're so freaking nervous or I'll—"

"Dave gave me the tickets and passes," she suddenly blurted out.

"Dave? Dave who?"

"Dave Grohl," she replied.

Before the obviously stunned Kara could ask any more questions, the house lights went down and the opening band came out to play. Not only was she very much not familiar with the band, her thoughts were still focused on the real reason they were there. Their set, even their name, blew by Mel like leaves on a windy day. She barely even noticed when the house lights went on and off between the set changes.

The band erupted onto stage. Everyone around her jumped to their feet. Without knowing what she was doing, Mel too was on her feet. Forward the crowd pressed, pulling her with them. Her dark eyes focused intently upon Dave. She could have sworn once his eyes briefed over her, but she didn't know how much of the crowd he could really see from his vantage point and if he would even recognize her.

And why the hell did she care?

By the end of the set, she found she not only recognized many of the songs, but actually knew them. Usually she had let her music-obsessed friends take care of that part of the world. They were always slipping her burned CDs, without ever telling her who the bands were, assuming she didn't care. That much was true. But because of that, Mel discouvered she knew a good number of the songs Dave sang and could sing along with the rest of the crowd. She actually thought her voice would go hoarse from all the screaming and singing she did while they were on stage. Endorphins had certainly kicked in.

With the house lights back on, Kara pulled Mel over to gain backstage access. Mel wasn't as nervous or not wanting to go anymore, though she wasn't too keen on seeing Dave again. She was just certain there would be a look of triumph in his eyes. But Kara would not take no for an answer. Before long they were weaving through the techs and equipement, making their ways back to the band.

"I can't wait to meet him," Kara tittered.

"Who?" Mel asked.

"Taylor. The drummer," she stated.

"Oh," she replied, dark eyes looking ahead to where others had clustered around the band.

The girls joined the small crowd milling about. Kara had to repeatedly poke and prod Mel to keep her from wandering off. That is until Kara was face-to-face with the object of her affection. With the girl distracted by the drummer, Mel skirted her way out of the crowd, intent on at least putting distance between herself and a chance encounter.

As she was doing so, a hand touched her bare arm, fingers wrapping gently around her wrist, "Don't run away."

His words froze her in her tracks. She couldn't even turn around and face him.

"Did you enjoy the show?" he asked, moving around so that he was not only blocking her escape but also facing her.

"I... I did," she admitted, raising her eyes to him.

A big boyish grin lit his face, "Good. I was glad to see you came. I thought you wouldn't."

"I almost didn't," she admitted.

Dave kept grinning. The longer he did, the more she relaxed. She wasn't sure why, but his smile had that effect on her.

"Maybe you and your friend want to come hang out with us tonight?" he offered.

"Kara would love to I'm sure. I've got to—" her eyes went down to where his hand still held her wrist "—get back home. I've got a lot of... stuff."

He shook his head, "Come on, Melanie. I promise no biting, unless you instigate it."

She couldn't help but smirk at his statement, especially since he still had that goofy grin on his face, "Fine, fine. I'll stay for a little while."

"Yes!" he exclaimed, not bothering to hide his excitement at all.

It was then that he released her wrist.

Chapter Three, I will come back

Thu, 16 May 2013 22:13:24 +0100

Title: Learn to Fly: Chapter Three, I will come back
Rating: PG [mild language]

Summary: Melanie kicks Dave out of her studio, but he is relentless...

He had no clue what he had done to deserve that, to be kicked out of her studio. But there Dave stood, on the opposite side of a closed door, staring at it. He seriously believed they had made some connection, but apparently not. In any event, he would uphold his end of the bargain, if only to see her again.

Mel fumed, staring at the slammed behind him door for what felt like ages. Finally pulling her fiery eyes off the wooden barrier, she stomped over to her canvases. Her eyes narrowed upon them. A moment later she yanked a tube of paint out of her storage case and uncapped it. With a guttural growl, she squirted the bright red paint onto the canvas. Her right hand moved up and smeared the paint around the canvas, only glimpses of the earlier blue swirls appearing in the angry red splotches. With the tube of red empty, she reached for a second tube and squirted it all over the second canvas. Using the same red hand, she smeared the black paint all over the second one, once again hiding the blue swirls under an angry coat. A third tube, this one purple, was emptied on the third canvas. Stepping back, her dark eyes glared at the canvases, as if her sour mood were their fault.

"He had no right to....UGH!" she stomped over to the sink, turning the hot water on to wash the myriad of angry colours on her palm.

As the water continued to run, continued to heat, Mel's anger began to subside. In its place a longing and a sadness began to seep. In her newly refound ennui, she did not notice the heat of the water on her hand until it was almost scalding. Snapping her hand back she stared at the reddened skin, almost expecting it to blister while she stared at it. When it didn't, she collapsed to the floor of her kitchenette, pulling her knees to her chin. Her body shook with uncontrolled sobs, though no sound nor tears were emitted.

It was here on her kitchen floor, the water still running, though now cold as it had exhausated the water heater's supply of water, her landlady found her the following day.

"Melanie!" she gasped, hurrying over to the girl.

She usually did not intrude upon the girl's privacy, but then again the two single women, one grayed and mellow, one colourful and lost, always shared breakfast. She had come to think of Melanie as the daughter she never had and was therefore concerned when the angsty girl did not appear for breakfast.

She was also the only one Mel allowed to call her by her full name.

"Melanie!" she exclaimed again, shaking the young woman.

Slowly the dark-haired girl stirred, her eyes crusted with tears. Blinking madly she tried to focus on whomever was standing over her. It took her a few moments to realize who it was.

"Oh, Ana," Mel started to push up into a seated position, with the help of the older woman. "What time is it?"

"Half past noon. I worried when you didn't come for breakfast and then didn't answer your phone. Are you all right?" she asked softly.

The girl nodded, "I think so. I was... I just... yesterday wasn't good."

"What happened?" Anne questioned, standing to turn the faucet off.

"Dave happened."

A silver brow arched, "Who?"

"A man I met at the coffehouse," she explained, hands going to hold her head. "Yesterday evening. He...."

"Did he hurt you? I'll call the police," the woman looked around for Mel's phone.

"No no no," Mel shook her head, getting to her feet shakily. "He just said some things... noticed some things... he shouldn't have. No law was broken."

Ana wasn't so sure about that. But as her eyes moved through the apartment, they landed upon the paintings Mel had been working on and she frowned deeply. Whatever this Dave had said has certainly set the girl off, Ana could see the rawness in the attack on the paintings. Oh how beautiful they had been and now.... now they were just... angry.

"In the very least, I will go and talk to this boy who did this to you," her kind eyes went back to the girl.

"As if you could. All I know about him is he was at the coffeehouse yesterday and claims to be a rock star," Mel replied. "Don't worry about it, Ana. Let's just go have our breakfast... as lunch instead."

"Are you sure? If he's a rock star the coffeeshop will be able to tell us who he is and where to find him right?" Ana pressed.

Mel had looked away from the woman to the open door. Her dark eyes were intently fixated upon it.... no on the form that stood in the doorway. Her already pale skin seemed to pale a few more shades, her bottom lip trembled.

"What do you want?" she demanded.

"I have a debt to repay," the deep voice replied, entering the apartment. "Your tickets."

He set a single envelope upon her small countertop, his eyes fixated upon hers. Mel's dark eyes hardened into a glare, saying what words she would not in the presence of the venerable woman. Dave merely smiled in reaction to her glare, trying to effect her with his smile.

"I don't want them," Mel finally growled.

"Sell them on Ebay for all I care," he replied. "They are yours. I promised you tickets for showing me your work. I keep my promises."

With that he glanced over at the three paintings that had seduced him the evening prior. He had to blink twice to understand what had happened to them. His eyes went back to hers.

"While I would love to stay," he began, "there are a few more things I must see to before the concert Friday. So until then...."

Dave turned and walked out of the open door, leaving Mel once again without words.

Chapter Two, I'll show you mine, if you'll...

Thu, 16 May 2013 22:10:58 +0100

Title: Learn to Fly: Chapter Two, I'll show you mine, if you'll...
Rating: PG [mild language]

Summary: Dave gets to see Melanie's art.

She couldn't believe she was walking down the street to her apartment with him. Of all the coffeehouses in the world she had chosen to stop in that day, it had to be that particular one, the one where a smile would distract her from her reading, and lead to her inviting him back to her place. Mel smirked. It's not like they were going back there to do anything and if he thought they would, Mr. Rock Star had something coming to him. He just wanted to see her art. And as there wasn't any in any nearby galleries, he would have to make do with seeing some things she didn't submit to any galleries yet.

"So... what's your medium?" he asked casually, keeping stride with the petite, dark-haired girl.

"Mostly acrylic. I don't like to wait for paint to dry," she replied. "Though I dabble in found objects and ceramics as well."

"Interesting," he commented. "And it's political in nature?"

"Is what you do?" she retorted.

"Sometimes," he responded.

"Then there's your answer," Mel replied. "This one is me."

She motioned to a brick two storied building. Leading him up the steps, she unlocked the door. Pausing to check her mailbox, Mel headed up the wooden steps to the second floor, not pausing to see if he was following or not.

He was of course. Dave was not more than a few feet behind her, thinking she would find it humourous if he got lost. And not come looking for him. She was rather intense and aloof at the same time. That alone intrigued him.

Inserting her key into her lock, Mel opened the door with her shoulder, dropping the pile of junk mail in a basket near the door. Her keys clanged to the wood next to it.

From all exterior premises, one would think her apartment to be rather small. But the benefit of having the second floor was the open rafters. Mel loved that. And the fact the apartment was nearly wall-less, she guessed it could be classified as a studio apartment, though it hadn't been when she moved in. She had asked if she could take the walls down. Anything not load-bearing came down. Giving her two rather nicely size rooms.

Across from the door a few easels were set up, so that she could look out the large windows. Splatters of paint decorated each of them, though nothing seemed all that coherant in the peices. Which was precisely why they were still on the easels. Dave was instantly drawn to them, their energy tempting him with secrets of the woman he just met.

"Oh not those," she stated, moving to a stack of canvases. "They're unfinished, still learning their language."

He followed her, though struggled to not look at the easeled canvases. His dark eyes dropped to her back as she squatted. A little smirk touched his mouth, seeing her low-rise pants drift dangerously low.

"I don't wear panties, if that's what you're trying to figure out," she declared before standing up. "They're too restrictive."

His mouth opened slightly in surprise, before he closed it as she handed him a few works.

"This is a series I did when in Atlantic City a few months ago," Mel offered. "The lights were my inspiration."

They were smaller pieces, no more than 10 inches square, but size clearly did not matter when it came to impact. Bright colours with hints of emblems, characters, and other such things jumped from the very white canvas. It was almost as if the colours needed to be as far from the virgin canvas as possible, but were trapped by the plasticity of the paint.

"Wow. Now these would be a trip to look at drunk," he commented.

Mel smirked, "Isn't Atlantic City like that itself?"

"Very true," he nodded, handing the stack back to her. "Anything else you'd like to show me?"

She nodded, turning to retrive another pile before he even asked. Handing him another series of small pieces, these a little larger than the previous, her eyes expectantly went to his.

"Cape Cod," Mel stated.

There was definitely a serenity in these works. Formed in blues and greens with a few interjections of cotton candy pink and sandy beiege, the lines of the abstractions curved around the canvas. He smiled crookedly as he flipped through each of them.

"You definitely seem to capture .... the feeling of each location," he stated, offered the pieces back.

"Not necessarily always a location thing," Mel declared. "And this is the final series you get to see."

"Fair enough," he replied.

After returning the Cape Cod canvases to their proper storage locations, Mel grasped his hand and lead him to the other side of the room. She pushed him rather forcefully onto the couch. He almost thought she was going to kiss him. But instead, she flashed him a sadistic grin and left him sitting on the couch alone, disappearing through the only doorway in the apartment.

Hearing the sounds of the beads, as that had replaced the rigid wood door, Dave looked over to see what she had in store for him then. She carried a canvas almost as tall as her, and half as wide, narrow, but tall.

"Close your eyes," she instructed, stopping in front of him.

He did as instructed. Waiting a moment to insure he had done such, Mel pivoted the first of three to face him, leaving the other two facing her, tucked behind the first.

"Okay. Don't say anything until you've seen them all. Then you can tell me what they mean," she declared.

His dark eyes fluttered open and settled on the canvas. She noticed his eyes dialate slightly and had to bite back a smile. Giving him another moment, she replaced that one with the next canvas. His eyes went to her face during the change, without instruction. When he glanced at the second, Mel could swear she saw him shiver slightly. That too brought a small smile to her lips. Again he looked to her eyes as she shifted to the third and final of the series. Holding her gaze a bit longer, Mel felt like Dave was trying to figure something out, trying to see into her soul through her eyes. It was her who broke eye contact first.

Not seeing his intitial reaction to the third piece, she turned it around so only the back was to him. For a moment she stood there, balancing each painting precariously. Eyes flicking to his, she once again left the room, returning the paintings to where they belonged.

Dave waited far more patiently than he thought he could for her return, especially after seeing those final paintings. Maybe she had shown them to him on purpose, so he would feel as he did, he wasn't certain. No matter her intention, waiting for her seemed to last forever.

She plopped down onto the couch next to him, breaking his thoughts. An uneasy smile touched both of their lips.

"You may speak now," she declared.

"You're very lonely, aren't you?" he asked.

"What? No," Mel quickly stated. "That's what you got from those?"

"They're about love. And how you miss having it," Dave declared.

For the longest moment she stared at him. A moment later she stood, pointing to the door.

"Out."

"What did I do?" he asked, not standing.

"Just leave."

"Melanie, please," Dave pleaded gently.

"LEAVE," she growled.

Chapter One, Artists

Thu, 16 May 2013 22:10:42 +0100

Title: Learn to Fly: Chapter One, Artists
Rating: PG [nothing to worry about]

Summary: A happenstance meeting at a coffee shop...

Leaning back in a plush chair in a small coffee house in Alexandria, Virginia, Mel pushed a short wisp of black hair from her equally dark eyes. Lifting the steaming cup to her lips, she grimaced as it clinked against her lip ring, so focused on the magazine in her hands she wasn't paying attention to the cup. Eyes darting around to see if anyone had seen what she had just done, her gaze collided with a smiling gaze of a man across the shop. She half-smiled, half-smirked at him, before turning her eyes back to her magazine.

Just because she was a small town girl, far from home, didn't mean she wasn't worldly. Mel had not only traveled extensively in her twenty-five years, but had known all kinds of people during such, which certainly made her think she could read someone within the first few moments of meeting them. She already had the man, whom she could still feel looking at her, categorized. He was a ladykiller for certain. Probably swept women off their feet all the time and never looked back to see them passed out in bed.

And certainly not the type of man Mel wanted to waste any time on.

He, however, apparently had other plans, as he headed over to where she sat, easing himself into the chair next to hers. For a moment they sat in silence, her dark eyes trying to remain hidden in the folds of the magazine. She could feel his eyes on her, willing her to drop the magazine.

"Interesting read?" he finally spoke up.

"Yes," she replied, not lowering the magazine.

He leaned around to see the cover of the magazine, "Art in America? Are you an artist or just interested in it?"

Mel finally gave him, lowering the magazine. Folding the page she was on, she closed it and tucked it into the chair she was seated on. She crossed her legs, reaching for her tea again.

"My parents would call me a failure, or if it's a good day, a starving artist. I however think exhibiting in quite a few galleries in SoHo qualifies me as a little more than that," she replied honestly. "But maybe I'm wrong. I'm no rock star. That would be a success to them."

He smirked, "Being a rock star isn't all it's cracked up to be."

"But you're making money and gaining notoriety. That for some reason would be better to talk about at the country club then about what I do," Mel shrugged. "Not that I really care."

"Of course not," he responded, sipping his coffee. "I'm Dave by the way."

"Pleased to meet you," she replied, though there was a touch of sarcasm in her voice. "I'm Melanie, but I suppose you can call me Mel like everyone else does."

"Melanie," he repeated with a smile, "that's a nice name. What brings you to Alexandria?"

Her face softened some, "I like the atmosphere. It's not as... high strung or high maintenance as New York. And it's close enough to Washington I can cross the river for.... inspiration. You?"

"Downtime. Taking a little break before going back to work. A little vacation, if you will," Dave replied.

"So you chose to come to a coffee house in Alexandria, Virginia as your vacation? Man, you really ought to see a travel agent. Get yourself a better vacation," she teased, loosening up some, a combination of his smile and the jasmine tea she was drinking.

He chuckled, "Here is home. I travel quite a bit the rest of the time. Downtime at home is good. Though I'll probably be playing in the studio before long."

The piqued her interest. Granted most people in coffeehouses, well the ones who lingered without a laptop, were artsy in some way or another. He hadn't particulalry fit that bill to her. But as her eyes searched his for a moment, there was something awfully familiar about him....

"What kind of art do you do?" Mel asked.

"Music. Guitar, drums, lyrics, stuff like that," Dave smirked. "A rock star, if you will."

Mel arched a brow, "Really? Must not be that great, since I don't see any teenagers pressing against the glass or stumbling about the cafe trying to get near you."

He glanced around, "Kinda why I come here. And they serve Seattle coffee. I became rather accostumed to it when living there."

She regarded him again, trying to place him. Familiar, yes. But she still didn't see 'rock star' plastered all over him. But if he wasn't the frontman of any band, that could explain it. Rarely did the drummer or backup guitarist get the publicity.

"Fine. If I pretend to believe you, for the sake of this conversation, what boon will you give me?" Mel challenged.

He thought for a moment, "Tickets and backstage passes work for you?"

"Heh, sure," she chuckled.

"But I want something from you," Dave countered.

"And what would that be?"

He smiled, "Show me your art."